For years, I thought retelling my abuse story was helping me heal. I had no idea I was retraumatizing myself every single time. Today I discovered the hidden pattern that’s been keeping me stuck—and why even well-intentioned therapy can miss it.
After losing the intoxicating emotional highs of church community, I discovered that true joy and hope aren’t dramatic peaks to chase, but subtle moments that accumulate like stalactites—building lasting strength one drop at a time in the darkness.
